


Fight Off Your Demons

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Unhealthy Levels of Codependence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7 Deadly Sins</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Off Your Demons

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted anonymously at LJ's 1dkinkmeme

Her mother used to warn her about jealousy, reciting some cliche metaphor, but Eleanor's just about convinced there's only one green-eyed monster hanging around, and it's got freakishly long limbs and nauseating curls and every time it sinks its claws into her boyfriend and makes her boyfriend smile that crinkly-eyed smile that's supposed to be hers she thinks _you monster, you absolute monster, you monstrous slut._

Eleanor's always had a problem with people who take what she thinks is supposed to be hers. She tries to justify it. Everyone's just been so predatory El's whole life, constantly threatening to steal things away from her unless she guards them, a mother wolf with teeth bared. But she's self-aware enough to know, on some level, that none of it ever really belonged to her like he did. Louis is one thing she's actually allowed to claim, so she thinks that maybe it doesn't make her too horrible of a person that she wants to rip out Harry's throat every time they touch. Besides, jealousy's not a monster. It's just a feeling. It can't consume you.

Anger can't either, Liam's pretty sure. He holds on pretty tightly to the fact that a person can decide who to be, that no one emotion can overtake you completely and he's Liam. He's Liam, he's sensible and sweet and harmless, he wills himself to be. He's not this prickly heat in his chest each time someone badmouths Harry's vocals. He's not the sharp red that burns behind his eyes and makes him throw punches when some skinhead calls Niall a faggot. He's not the bile rising in his throat when Danielle's pestering gets to be too much and he whirls around and ( _accidentally, accidentally_ ) hits her hard with the back of his hand. He's not the sick swooping feeling in his stomach when he sees her face in that moment. He's not. He won't be.

Liam's gifts start after that, apologies and insurance and promises. That first time, that sharp pain across her cheek, was a diamond necklace Danielle still wears daily. Most days it just feels like status, like excess, glittering powerful and heavy the way she's almost certain diamonds are meant to feel on a young girl's throat, but some days it feels like armor, like a shield she holds up to the world to deflect each weapon, each whisper hurled at her, carving wounds shaped like _golddigger, famewhore, using him._

Those are the darkest days, usually the ones when Liam's been away the longest and she's pretty sure he's found some other warm body to rub up against and she wants something concrete to hold onto to prove she's worth something. And she throws on a couple extra necklaces and a pair of overpriced heels or good measure and drags Eleanor out to the club where it's too loud to hear herself think and too dark for El to notice that Danielle's not sweating on her shoulder, she's crying, because everything she wants is too big too fast and she knows the bubble's bound to burst and she's just so fucking scared.

Eleanor might dance a little too close to Danielle, might drink just enough to have an excuse for kissing her hard in a basement packed full of bodies, because they'll be damned if they're the ones pining at home while their boyfriends are a world away, lost in adoring crowds, forgetting they're other people's lovers.

Harry doesn't mean to steal other people's lovers. It just kind of happens. He's thoughtful most of the time, he actually cares about people's feelings which makes the whole flirting addiction thing so much easier, and so much harder. Harry's got these really nice manners underneath it all, hidden away somewhere in a place that used to be closer to the surface, used to be one of the first things Liam noticed about him when everything was new and they were strangers making small talk that was pleasant, predictable, a comforting pattern of expected responses. Now they all still crave that comfort but Harry finds it harder, shit, so much harder to follow the rules, to be good when it's easier to just drop his voice a little, relax his eyelids and lean into someone and have them want him enough to take away all the bad, even for half an hour.

It's not that Harry wants to sleep with everybody in the world, though it definitely seems like he's trying. But he's constantly craving something that Louis is usually too tired to give him these days. Louis is listless lately, he used to burst with this infectious energy, spilling over into Harry until they were one, fucking fast and frantic with bare skin that always smelled like grass and sunshine even in the dead of winter in a foreign hotel room. Now Louis is a half-deflated balloon, just drifting along. Now Louis smells of too-sweet snacks and weed smoke and not having showered in weeks. It's almost depressing enough to make Harry give up on trying to fuck him altogether. Almost.

Niall's never had much of a reputation as a slut, which makes perfect sense and no sense at all. He sleeps around almost as much as Harry, which is really saying something, but Harry does it because he actually enjoys it, because it pushes him into a state of near ecstasy (as far as Niall can tell, anyway, he's not a fucking mindreader). Niall does it because it's just another thing he needs more of. Something to gorge himself on until he's full. He fills himself up with strange men and starchy foods and is never satisfied, is never finished until he's sure it's enough of an excuse to hate himself. These days he spends half of his time making himself throw up, and he barely even knows Eleanor but she looks at him with those angry animal eyes of hers this time in London and presses a pretty little poison bottle into his hand, walks away from him with no words. He thinks _it's nice to know I'm not the only one_ , quickly drowned out by _I've got to get better at hiding this._

Zayn doesn't want to hide, but it's the only thing he's really good at. His entire personality feels like a lie. He's not sure when he became this total fucking joke to everyone around him, but he can't help feeling really small when he hears yet another wisecrack about his vanity, his endless prep time in the bathroom every morning, his painstakingly sculpted hair. His lips curl into a smug smirk, silently broadcasting _I'm proud you think I'm so well put together_ while his thoughts scream _why can't you see I'm breaking why don't any of you get it why._ Sometimes he notices Niall rushing to the bathroom, a thing he's sure he's the only one smart enough to realize, and he thinks _at least someone understands._ But then he sees Niall dirty and disheveled, passed out with in the lounge in yesterday's clothes alongside Louis, and he thinks _of course nobody understands._ And so he measures his waist again. And he rips each tiny stray hair from between his brows, relishing the pain because it means progress, it means looking the part, it means feeling like he deserves to have achieved all the success that somehow became his. Once Zayn thought they were all supposed to take care of each other but it's not like that matters anyway, it's fine, _everything's fine, I look perfect, I'm in control._

And the only time Liam feels in control is when Zayn's coming apart underneath him, flushed and flustered and fucking gorgeous and Zayn tries to hide his face every time but Liam grabs him _let me look at you_ hard enough to bruise _you can't hide from me_ and Liam loves that there's something in the world so beautiful even he can't fuck it up. And he chokes back tears on Zayn's shoulder and Zayn wishes Liam could hear him thinking _just let it out, let it go, you don't have to be strong._ Wishes he could be strong, at least strong enough to tell Liam out loud. But instead Zayn tries to say it in another language, in bruises and bitemarks and blood across Liam's chest because silence is Zayn's safety. Silence is control.

And Harry would do anything to give up control for one whole minute, because for all their rehearsed babbling about Liam being the father figure of the group, Harry's the empath who spends far too much energy worrying about other people, so he lets himself get lost the only way he knows how, tangled up in other people's lovers. Fucking the stress to the corners of his mind, banishing all the worries to someplace that not his body, when his body has no room for anything but pleasure, and he makes himself think _it's okay that she belongs to someone else somewhere, it's okay that he belongs to a girl who wants me dead, how could anything that feels this good be bad._

But it is bad, and he knows it. They all know it. They beg each other for forgiveness over and over, asking with words and gifts and kisses and songs, but they just keep on sinning, because it couldn't possibly be worse than the alternative.

None of their demons could possibly hurt them any worse than leaving each other.


End file.
